


The Measure Of A Man

by Combeferret



Category: Les Misérables - All Media Types
Genre: Anti-Sacrilege Act, Awesome Bahorel, Barricade Day 2015, Bourbon Restoration Politics, Canon Era, Combeferre Is Exhausted, Courfeyrac Is A Little Shit, Dumb Law Students, Guns, It's 1825, Law School, Making Friends, Other, Period Typical Violence, Pre-Canon
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-06-05
Updated: 2015-06-05
Packaged: 2018-04-02 23:33:51
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 10,909
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4078075
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Combeferret/pseuds/Combeferret
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“I am not your friend, de Courfeyrac. Perhaps you are confused and need to find one. I hear they can be had at Straub’s for the price of someone’s vanity." </p><p>Every friendship has to begin somewhere.  Theirs starts in Autumn, 1825 with a boring lecture, annoyed Blondeau, and accidents of circumstance.  Bahorel knows what the the English have to say about the word "assume", but Enjolras and Courfeyrac sure don't.   Also features a tired Combeferre,  annoyed law professors and commentary on the Bourbon Restoration and Anti-Sacrilege- Act.</p><p>For Barricade Day 2015.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Splinters & Straub's

Autumn, 1825

 

 

For all that it was cramped, the lecture hall was freezing.  Upon consideration, Enjolras suspected that, were it not for the notes that were required if one wished to keep ahead of Blondeau's droning monologue, none of them would like likely be here.  Already, the course had lost a good quarter of its members, and it was only October, and, quite frankly,  he could not blame them.  Did the man even have another tone of voice, he wondered, shifting in the uncomfortable desk, a splinter poking at him through his trouser seat again, and attempted not to sigh out loud.

 

"I shall make you a deal."

 

Someone hissed from behind him, and Enjolras turned to glare into the bright blue eyes of his least favorite classmate.  Somehow, despite his best attempts at avoiding the other man, de Courfeyrac, insufferable as they came,   seemed to enjoy seeking him out, and, much as he seemed to annoy Blondeau, with his inability to sit still,  to keep out of drawing, or from gossiping, it was fairly obvious that he took that in stride as well. At least, Enjolras was reasonably sure that that was it.   Granted, he hardly ever cared so much about his classmates, but today, when harassing him seemed de Courfeyrac's goal,  and Blondeau going on and on, not even speaking of the law now, he was forced into conceding on his normal principles.  At least the man was contained enough for the moment not to lose himself in some mad display or other as he'd done before.

 

Instead of answering him back, Enjolras shifted, shivered, yet again, and wished, quite fervently, that de Courfeyrac would find himself something else to do.

 

"Psst, you, Enjolras!"  de Courfeyrac insisted, stretching a long leg over the back of his bench and nearly over his own shoulder, practically demanding a response.  Enjolras ought not to give him one,  but after the man's stylish boot made contact with his shoulder yet again, he'd had enough.

 

"Do you happen to mind?" He hissed,  rubbing the dirt that he was certain had landed there during de Courfeyrac's impromptu little invasion.  "One would think your parents taught you to sit still by NOW."

 

For a moment,  it seemed as if that did the trick, de Courfeyrac looking subdued for a moment, but just a moment, doubtlessly thinking of the fact his parents would send him less allowance for his ostentatious clothing if they heard that he had gotten up to anything. He looked remarkably upset for something on those lines, but then, Enjolras supposed, every man had his Waterloo. If de Courfeyrac's lay in hats and clothing, it was his own business, after all.

 

"I tried to." de Courfeyrac answered the question, grinning and stretching out again, his whole ankle now draped over the back of Enjolras's seat.  "But really, look around you, man.  These seats were not exactly made for me."  

 

A point to concede on, if any.  For all that de Courfeyrac was an irritance, he was a particularly tall one, and Enjolras supposed if he suffered enough like this, de Courfeyrac's much larger, bulkier, and above all, taller frame must be making him miserable.  Perhaps for that alone, and because they were hardly learning, he shifted yet again, turning completely now to face the other man.

 

"You had a proposal for me? What is it?" he snapped, the idea of being charitable enough to ask fading away as soon as he had to say it. God knew that it was always something.

 

"Ah, getting down to business." de Courfeyrac's smile was widening, along with Enjolras's growing urge to simply hit him then and there.  "I was thinking I might slip out of here, and you would kindly share your usually impeccable notes with your unfortunately suffering classmate. "

 

At that, de Courfeyrac  waggled his eyes a bit,  tossed back a bit of dark blond hair, cropped at the shoulders and left to hang free,  and positively leered in such a way that Enjolras nearly feared the level of suggestiveness implied.   "I can surely find a way of repaying such a kindness as that."

 

Was he...did he honestly? Enjolras had at first thought it a joke, but now, he flushed and glared, not wishing to hear it in his lecture hall, or indeed anywhere else right now.

 

"I will not." he snapped at the idea, nearly so loud that Blondeau might have stopped, were they not near the back where it was much harder to hear specifics.  "Dear God, what do you take me for?  Rarely prone to violence as he was,  Enjolras wished to hit de Courfeyrac again, for the remark, and hard enough to break his smug aristocratic jaw.

 

"Oh come, there must be something, then!"  The wheedling tone continued,  and was enough that Enjolras nearly screamed.  "A decent hat or waistcoat for a start! God knows you look a blind and homeless drunk in whatever you are wearing now."

 

“I beg your forgiveness then.”  Enjolras spat the words out, forcing all of his annoyance out back at its cause.   “I did not realize a standard uniform was so important.  Nor that ignoring it is so base a crime at that.”    

 

Bahorel, his best friend in the law school, currently his only friend in Paris, knew everyone in the city, and so Enjolras trusted him to know and make deliveries to those in need of anything to eat, or wear, and to join him in contributing as he could.  Spendthrift as the older student obviously was, they usually managed between them still.  Another week of alms from both of them, not to mention the pamphlet he had been compiling ready to go to print at a shop Bahorel trusted did take up a lot of ink, a lot of paper, and the printer’s fees, did not leave much room for anything after his meals and rent and being dragged around the city with Bahorel meeting contacts who would be important later.

 

Really, beyond all of that,  giving the people bread, preparing to give them something more, and meeting those who might actually help him in that process, what was Enjolras supposed to care? He was comfortable enough, when de Courfeyrac was not shoving his legs over his chair and taking up more room than any reasonable human being ever could, at least, and as long as his coat was not in obvious tatters, it should hardly matter when it came to it.

 

“Well, yes, it surely is a crime, when someone who looks like you continues wearing things like that.  My God, man, it’s as if you were spitting on nature herself, coming to class like that.  We’ll not even begin touching upon your shirt…”  

 

“And you could help me, could you?” Enjolras shot back, “prove clothing makes a man and all of…”

 

“I beg your pardon, Messiers Enjolras,  de Courfeyrac.” Blondeau joined in at last, his voice cutting through the hall like the crack of a whip.  Enjolras had no doubt the man would have invested in one had he been allowed to deal in actual violence, but as the option was not there, settled for personal embarrassment tactics instead, and generally did very well in those, all things considered; as Bahorel had put it once, he seemed to live for them.  

 

Still, thinking of the man attempting to manage Bahorel with any of those tactics at all was quite the mental image, amusing enough that Enjolras was able to keep his mouth shut where he would have pinned all of the blame where it belonged, with the long legged cretin stuck behind him.   It was a little hard to manage that, but then Blondeau was leaning close, and soon the lecturer’s glare was just about the only thing that mattered, and though he was not exactly cowed, experience had taught that it was damned well better to look a little chastened in the process.

 

De Courfeyrac, behind him still, was not even attempting to pretend at that much, no. In fact he was, Enjolras checked, just to be sure, yes, he was GRINNING, damn him, and Enjolras had no idea what part of any of this he found FUNNY.

 

“I beg your pardon in return, Monsieur”, the tall man purred, stretching out just a little further.  

 

“We were deep in discussion on the merits of remaining here today, or finding actual comfort. He ‘explained’ wincing as he moved his leg. “Do you not see that we are dying, miserable, and quite denied our comforts?  Monsieur Enjolras agrees, of course.  I believe, the way that he is squirming, that there is something poking him somewhere especially unpleasant.  Though removing it may be too late, given the man himself.”

 

“And you…” Enjolras started, but was cut off right there by Blondeau’s face alone.

 

“Enough! The both of you. If you intend to use this time to ignore me, Monsieur Enjolras, and wish to leave so badly as all of that, Monsieur  de Courfeyrac, then who am I to stop you? Please.  Both of you are free to go at once, if you would please.”   Blondeau pointed toward the door, the gesture clear in case the message had not been, then bent to grab for Enjolras’s satchel of other books sitting so neatly on the floor beside him there, as if to get him out all the faster.

 

 And then, de Courfeyrac, behind him, moved his leg, quite easily knocking both his own and somehow Enjolras’s books to the floor, where all of their loose papers shifted in towards each other, and their classmates started snickering, even applauding and Bahorel would definitely hear about this within the hour, and would laugh his head off for more. After all, it was not so uncommon for most people to be tossed out of the class, but double bannings, and complete with tantrums were rather more unusual.  Enjolras just hoped he might come back.

 

“Pick up after yourselves and go!”  Blondeau added again as if they happened to be idiots, stomping back through a row of students with another nasty glare in their directions.

 

“Ah good, we’re out early for once.”  de Courfeyrac smirked,gathering up some papers and books, then extending  them to Enjolras.  “I believe that these are...Hugo, really? You know his thoughts these days, I hope?  Well you have interesting taste, my friend.”   

 

And there it was,  his republican leanings, right there out  in the open for the classmate he wished the most not to see those floating around.  de Courfeyrac, with his participle and his fancy coats and hats, and oh dear god, the man was leaning close, obviously to deliver some sort of warning, or offer a bribe and Enjolras did not dare back away, but fixed him with a look even Bahorel knew to back away from.   de Courfeyrac was no exception to that rule.

 

“I am not your friend, de Courfeyrac.” He snapped, stepping forward to grasp the man by the wrist, tightly enough to show that he could break it if he really wanted,  that he would not consider bribes and was prepared to do what he must when it came to protecting everything he held dear.   “Perhaps you are confused and need to find one. I hear they can be had at Straub’s for the price of someone’s vanity.  God only knows what the going rate is there, but I am sure you can afford to throw it at someone more suited to your tastes.”  

 

“But, you are MUCH more fun.”  de Courfeyrac informed him. stepping with a fencer’s grace, despite his frame, into the space that Enjolras had left, close enough again that it was almost, but not quite completely unbearable. If he’d been at all affected by the comment, one could barely tell, aside the anger-bright steel of his eyes.  Odd,  and perhaps dangerous, but Enjolras could hardly bring himself to care just now, twisting his arm a little, with a strength even Bahorel had been surprised by.  

 

Surely even de Courfeyrac, annoyance though he was, would hardly try anything worse in here, with such an audience as this, even though Enjolras did not think he wanted to risk much more anywhere else in Paris.  But somehow, something, whether it was pain, unlikely fear of what Blondeau would do, in here, if either of them moved beyond preliminaries, or something else entirely had the man shivering a little, and for that alone, Enjolras released his grip, though was surprised de Courfeyrac did not completely back away at once, but rather crossed his arms over his chest, to go along with the shivering already there, trying to to turn it back to something that he could control.  Enjolras had had the victory, he was already fairly sure of that; he could throw some small scrap of pity in his idiot classmate’s way.

 

“Brr.”  de Courfeyrac muttered, tightening his coat and turning up the flaps.  “I never knew fire could freeze so quickly. By your leave then, if you please.  It’s bound to take a lot of drink to warm me up, again.”

 

Enjolras shrugged, stepping aside to let him pass, before making his way toward the front, where Blondeau offered both of them a scowl, the register in his hand, and a pen in the other.

 

“And by the way, neither one of you need come back.”

  
  



	2. The Fear Of God And The Republic

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “I understand that you’ve had quite the day, young man. Removed from Blondeau’s course scarcely over a month from when you first began. Now, tell me, Enjolras, what DO you have to say for yourself?” 
> 
> Bahorel holds court, and passes judgement, as some secrets are revealed.

“Ah THERE you are.” Bahorel, not exactly large enough that he could manage to propel himself so easily through through a late afternoon crowd of students on physicality alone, seemed to saunter through with easy elegance and disregard for any sort of proper order, and, years ago, the late luncheon and post lecture hour denizens of their favorite, and conveniently close, cafe had learned enough to move away so that Bahorel seemed to  part the seas before him, like some sort of a minor deity, particularly when he called across the room with that same expression of mock severity that he was wearing now.  

 

Well, so much for a quiet explanation then,  Enjolras thought, rolling his eyes in greeting as the senior student glided to a stop beside him, clicking his tongue as if he actually intended to easily slip into and dispense with the sort of dressing down one only managed to receive as penalty for a select few unfathomable offenses: attending one’s classes,  studying for the exams,or daring to actually become a lawyer, then attempting to spread it down to unsuspecting young men like the infectious disease Bahorel regularly insisted that it was.

 

“I understand that you’ve had quite the day, young man. “ he continued, flagging one of the waitstaff down and delivering the usual call for their bottle before dropping into the chair directly opposite  Enjolras and leaning forward just a little.   “Removed from Blondeau’s course scarcely over a month from when you first began.  Now, tell me, Enjolras, what DO you have to say for yourself?”

 

“I regret that I’ve surpassed your record?” Enjolras suggested,  arching a brow in Bahorel’s direction, unable to help himself.  Bahorel’s best efforts to be at his worst were, after all the, the stuff of legend, but even he had usually idled out of classes rather than resort to almost fisticuffs with fellow students, or any actual displays of such a magnitude.  It was, Enjolras realized, a way to make him visible at once, and while there was no harm in being a Republican, as a good many of them were, being too flamboyant with the information was a wonderful way to get himself put onto a watchlist before he had even really earned it.

 

“Ruined? Well, yes, there is that, and I shall have to enact my vengeance upon you for that at some point in the future, won’t I?”  Bahorel grinned, tilting his own chair up onto two legs, then reached over to tweak his hair, in the sort of easy affection the two of them had fallen into almost naturally as the late summer’s blistering heat had given way to autumn’s chill.  “Enjolras, mon coco, I could not be prouder or more pleased you’ve decided upon adopting my technique so soon.  A bit surprised, I must confess,” he added, rocking back onto the floor again,  then leaned forward, his expression a little fierce in how protective it had suddenly become.

 

“de Courfeyrac’s an ass at most,  rather more a dandy than a threat, and it seems that you had him handled, but should he step out of line again, you only have to say the word and I’ll invite him for a little chat. “  

 

“I doubt that will be necessary, thank you.”  Enjolras answered rather quickly, almost before Bahorel had the complete offer out.  It was not that he did not appreciate his friend’s promise to be of aid, or the offer of protection in and of itself, but there were times one must stand on his own.  Should he have to prove anything, well, better that the he had the skill to do it than sending in a friend to do the dirty work.   “Where I hope we are  going, I will need to handle men like him myself.”  

 

“Where you hope we are going,” Bahorel answered, his smile a little tight. “I should think that enough like minded men would wish to follow. Speaking of, you wanted me to look over our latest draft?”

 

Ah, yes, the draft.  In all of the afternoon’s chaos, insanity, and all the rest, Enjolras had not quite forgotten, but he had been pulled out of the proper mindset for that sort of thing.  It made him more of an irritance again, but only momentarily.   Enjolras turned to his bag, flipping open his book to unfold the paper he had hidden between the back covers and the index.

 

“If you would not mind, yes, I would appreciate the help.  I turn too academically, I think.  It’s difficult, considering it.  The act is on the books, yet, none in his right mind would actually enforce it. Still...it does say quite a bit now doesn’t it?” He added, frowning at the lack of paper, and flicking through to the front of the book again.

 

Perhaps he’d shoved it here, in the confusion.  If had had left such things laying out in the lecture hall, with thoughts that dared suggest the new Anti Sacrilege Act, with its supposed proscribed and ridiculous symbolic  punishments for public blasphemy, went much too far, there would be trouble.

 

It was not the punishment, which would not come,  but the idea that government could reach so far alone, that caused the problem, and a work stating the problem,  unmistakably written in his somewhat distinctive scrawl, was bound to still cause trouble. All it took was recognition of a few words calling the public to attention and a knowledge of his hand, and it would be too much to keep him from being noticed before his time.

 

There were reasons, after all, that Bahorel himself had not contributed to the physical writing yet.  As much as each of them found it ridiculous that men should judge each other for offenses against a God who was not there to speak for himself, as much as Bahorel in particular, professed  that judgement was a greater blasphemy, the unpopular law from last year, now dressed up and actually passed, symbolic though it actually was, still showed the way Charles X and his new policies could go, and that was worrying. Critiquing that, testing the bonds of the act by criticizing it, in  light of the idea of government policy gone mad would be the problem, particularly printed with their own names.  Having such ideas as those, and the gall to challenge them in light of the broader issue, could very easily lead them into trouble.

 

God Forbid, Blondeau may have it, too.  Already, he had reason for a grudge, and Enjolras knew he would hold it.  Forget being removed from class, there would be greater consequence than that if it had happened.   
  


Bahorel’s face said as much too, though he managed to keep from looking too stricken at the moment to press onward.  “Perhaps if I look through your...there.” He added, suddenly unfolding a paper that seemed to Enjolras more polished somehow, as though by misplacing it, he had suddenly transfigured the rough beast into a thing of skill and intellect.  He doubted he was so lucky at once, but it was nice to hope for, and to have a goal, though across the table from him, Bahorel cleared his throat, and looked toward the paper quite uncertainly.

 

“You’ve changed your choice of ink, my friend? Green for Camille, is that not how it went?” He asked, “How odd, for you, I’d thought we might never get you past plain black even for yourself.  Well, you needn’t stiffen and flinch so. “  Bahorel continued, laying one hand upon Enjolras’s shaking one.  “I only tease, you know that, so let us have a look at your...Enjolras, what is this? thoughts on paying the émigrés back what they lost in the revolution?  Stealing money from the rest to pay traitors to the republic? I’ve already heard your thoughts on that.  Quite clearly as a matter of fact.  I don’t mind looking at it, once again, but even so, I’d rather thought our pamphlet…”

 

“No.”  Enjolras cut in quickly, feeling the need to explain. “I did not use green, I do not even own green.  Black stains are bad enough, and you’re right that I most certainly have added my voice.  I see no reason to go at the issue in print just yet. …”

 

“Your hand has changed a little too, has it actually improved a...No.” Bahorel squinted at the paper for a moment longer, “This is not your hand at all. Have you been swapping any of our work with someone else?  And did you mean to let me know?

 

“De Courfeyrac.”  Enjolras groaned, dropping his head onto the table, wishing he were somewhere else, the pit in his stomach when he’d found his work was missing growing deeper..  “The  commotion as we left and I’ve,...if I’ve picked up one of his essays, then the chance he’s walked away with mine…”

 

“You may be needing me to give him that talk, after all.  Although, of course…”

 

“Of course?”  

 

“Presuming that, of course, you do not mean to follow my example quite so thoroughly as you have started to,  and one day break my heart by becoming a real  lawyer, you shall, at some point,  wish to cross examine?  To give your clients some small hope of dignity in spite of their sham trials, and the rather disgusting truths of our injustice system?   If anyone might sway someone toward our goals, I think that the man must be you. “

 

“What, turn de Courfeyrac?”  Enjolras snorted,  “You’ve just offered to punch him several times for me.  Why your own change of heart?”

 

Bahorel’s smile, when turned up to its full ability, was actually rather dazzling, and had a way of making anyone believe in almost anything he wanted.  Knowing he believed in you was almost a job done, in and of itself.  Bahorel’s smirk was something else again; its power lay in its ability to make you do whatever it was that he suggested, and promised that you would not only find its outcome to be satisfactory, but that you would enjoy it too.

 

“I did not say I had a change of heart.”   And it was the smirk, full force that Bahorel shot Enjolras, leaning back in his chair again. “You’ll put the fear of God and the Republic in him, and I very much would like to see it.  You cannot blame a man for that, I hope?”

 

“The fear of the Republic?”  Enjolras grinned, taking the chance to sip his wine, raising his glass a little to clink with his friend’s.  “I certainly should like to try for that.”  It definitely had its merit, this suggestion, and if part of it was seeing de Courfeyrac’s face as he read through a string of notes denouncing everything, perhaps changing de Courfeyrac’s own views, he… Well, all right.  Bahorel was not the only man at this table who wanted to see the face he made, and Enjolras couldn’t keep from snorting, just the same.

 

“Ah, then you see the beauty in it. Method to my madness, something of that sort?”  There was Bahorel’s smirk still, yes, and it grew bigger than ever.  “I would not worry too much about retaliation for something as small as that.  de Courfeyrac’s a spoiled little peacock, but maybe not so much, at heart.  It will grate, certainly, but not so much that he does more than he already has.  It hardly takes a lot, particularly when the truth is on your side. So come on, then.”  He added, passing Enjolras the paper back, apparently unread.  “Let’s find out what he has to say. I am particularly curious to see him justify such blatant robbery, aren’t you?”

 

“Perhaps a little.”  Or perhaps a lot,  Enjolras thought, taking a final sip of wine then picing up his pen to squint down at the document first hand, astounded by the fancy writing, something he would never bother doing in a draft.   “Oh, he is a Camille indeed.  Look at his hand.  We ought to find somebody with a decent one ourselves,  won’t you agree?”   Between them, Enjolras scrawled on everything, the words barely legible, even when he carefully used just one direction for the letters, and Bahorel’s pen strokes, large and clear as they were,  took up rather a lot of room.  Somewhere in between the two of them and what they managed could be something of a blessing when it came to properly getting things done, with notes from meetings or the like, if they could manage anyone enough for meetings.

 

“I will work on it, yes.  Now read.”  Bahorel leaned forward himself, his eyes sparkling a little as he did that.  “Come on; we might as well make tonight interesting. And your departure from Blondeau’s class worth it.”

 

“Good enough.”  Enjolras added at the urging,  “What do you think, shall I read it out? “  Oh very well then, he decided, at Bahorel’s nod and cleared his throat to launch into the reading.  “Well, he begins by... “  The words were NOT what he’d expect.   Enjolras read a few more lines,  quite by himself, and by the time he’d managed to look up again, it seemed like a long time had passed.

 

“Bahorel.” he muttered, glad to shove the paper at his friend.  “He does not intend to support the act. You need not even read between the lines.”  

 

De Courfeyrac, for whatever reason, had defended republican intent, raising a few points Enjolras himself had never thought of, and the more casual approach he took toward discussing them was interesting, certainly.  De Courfeyrac’s statements were almost, but not quite offhand.  He wrote as though the two of them were sitting in a comfortable cafe somewhere, casually raising the points themselves and...translating them, really, so that anyone might understand.  Enjolras knew he was inspiring, himself, but that the inspiration in his works came through in tiny snippets, rewards, almost, for slogging through the rest of his points, important as they were to understand.  

 

de Courfeyrac translated, rather than expounded, he prompted laughter at the intervals with wild examples that Enjolras was nearly certain came with gestures, and acted out enthusiasms all the same.   He almost pictured de Courfeyrac, sitting before a roaring fire, making proclamations, leaning in close to others to explain some minor, but important point, in language anyone could understand, and for a moment, he forgot just how much he wanted to punch the man.   There was a difference between them ,yes, the distance from light and ideals, both of them sometimes distant and far away, and fire and warmth and people.  

 

“He’s not so skilled as you are, in the way of shaping words.” Bahorel mused, a little smile crossing his face.  “But there is an honesty in de Courfeyrac’s works, a place that men can reach, because his door is always open.  You, on the other hand, seem sometimes like you live apart from all the rest of us.  It..”

  
Perhaps ten minutes ago,  Bahorel had been threatening to hold a  ‘conversation’ with de Courfeyrac and now he..It was almost as if he had known, all along, what Enjolras might find there when the work was revealed as his classmate’s.  He may not have been particularly well read when it came to humanity, but there were some things Enjolras knew perfectly well, thank you, and the times that he was being played were one of them.   He narrowed his eyes considerably, giving Bahorel his best attempt at an especially stern glare.

  
“When you came in,” He said at last when he could find the words through his annoyance. “You offered to ‘chat’ with de Courfeyrac on my behalf, and yet, you hardly seem surprised to...you know his writing!”  Enjolras accused, feeling his face began to flush.  “I think, maybe, you should explain.”

 

“When someone bothers you against your will, it merits a potential talking to. Particularly when they are infamous for lack of boundaries.   But as I recall it, you assumed de Courfeyrac would not support our own cause first, I’ll have you know.  You simply grew concerned enough to carry on, and all I had to do was flatter your abilities. As skilled at arguing as you are,  you never asked me where he stood. The English have a saying about their word ‘assume’ ” Bahorel crowed, rocking back in his chair again, obnoxious enough that Enjolras saw no other option but to hook his leg around what of the rung his leg could reach, then jerking hard, pull the chair and its two front legs to the floor.

 

“It seems to me if I am meant to put the fear of God and the Republic into people, there are some right here who need my help instead. “

  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The Anti-Sacrilege Act (1825-30), as discussed in this chapter, was on the books, but never actually used as more than a political symbol. It allowed for harsh punishments for various forms of blasphemy, which existed on paper, but never in practice.
> 
> The Bourban Restoration really DID propose recompensing those who had been forced to flee in the Revolution for their lands.


	3. Courage or Bravado?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “As fascinating as all of this is, de Courfeyrac, Enjolras, the rest of us would appreciate you conduct your duel elsewhere."
> 
> A classroom crisis averted as more notes are passed.

_De Courfeyrac-_

__

_Despite the fact that you apparently do not possess the slightest ability to …_

__

No.

_I find your ideas interesting, despite a complete lack of sense, common or other…_

__

No, again.

_I was pleasantly surprised despite your lack of reasoning to find that you…_

Responding to de Courfeyrac’s work overall, was something of a nightmare, evidenced by the fact that Enjolras had finished commenting on the man’s work with small notes in the margins by eight this evening, and it was now nearing, or, after?, midnight. Whatever time it was, he had yet to write an actual, full response.   He paused a moment, though the time itself hardly mattered, raking an inky hand through his his hair, his old habit of late night work continued, though the fact he had another class in the morning had presented itself as something to be aware of when this started.  

By now, the oil in his lamp had long gone out, and he would need to buy more later, and the stub of candle he had started with once that was gone was on its way to following.   He needed to have this done, and soon, but contrary to the easy way he’d brushed off Bahorel’s offer of help:

“I think that I am capable of managing to write a paragraph even though I haven’t been failing law school for multiple years yet, thank you”, responding to the depth of ideas, of feelings, set forth in this work beyond the scribbling of a quick commentary, question, or suggestion of more reading de Courfeyrac could do  was something else again, and Enjolras found himself lost.

Tact had its place, and Enjolras knew it went far,  but, at the same time, it was far too close to Blondeau’s lecture to think completely of the tactful things to say. Or, rather, it was far too close to the incident to think only of those tactful things.  The part of him that had been humiliated, and that pointed out de Courfeyrac had very nearly exposed both of them without asking permission, wanted to scold him for his lack of caution and proper timing.

It was all very well to be brave, and Enjolras had no doubt that in the proper times, he was quite brave himself, but causing scenes in classes was bravado, at the best, and bravado was not so sustaining as all of that.  Courage meant you were prepared to stand for what was right, to live and die for all the truths that you held dear, and knowing that your life, no longer yours, may not be guaranteed.  It meant that you may spend that life, but only once you’d weighed the value of what you purchased in the bargain, and determined it worthwhile.  Bravado was a silly schoolboy’s game of showing off, flaunting your so called bravery by taking stupid dares and risks, either to entertain the self or to gain admiration and respect.

Courage had a purpose and contained  a goal one strove toward, something that you must stand up for against all other odds.  Bravado’s only purpose was to prove your so called courage for those whom you wished to admire or to be in awe of you.  Courage spoke for itself, bravado required speaking up at every moment possible, simply, perhaps, to hear one’s own voice confirming something which you could not quite believe in.   Courage, of the true sort had results which were long lasting and bravado rarely lasted or impacted anyone but the man who insisted that he was brave, and often sent him to his death.

Enjolras knew that he was brave, and of de Courfeyrac, he frankly doubted that, but hoped his worst fears would prove wrong.   If there was bravery behind bravado, and his sentiments were sound,  then Enjolras could use a man like him; Bahorel had been right.  

How did one manage to find out?  He only wished he had the words to ask de Courfeyrac that question, to almost dare him into doing something brave along those lines.  Of course, given today, it was all too likely, wasn’t it, that he would return to a display along those lines.   It was a shame, he thought, considering the man’s sheer ability to keep on arguing a point long after it had become moot.  de Courfeyrac DID have the ability to hold onto something and…

Actually to Hell with tact. Enjolras was perfectly willing to tell de Courfeyrac just those thoughts. There was no need or reason to be dishonest with the man simply because he found him an annoyance.  He had, after all, made his own strange gesture of friendship, as foreign and as strange as Enjolras had found it.  And perhaps, the honesty would come in handy somewhere along the way.

_De Courfeyrac,_

  
_You are at once persuasive, engaging, and a bit out of your mind,_

It felt like some sort of comment from a professor, but at least that was a style de Courfeyrac ought to be familiar with, provided he turned in any assignments, ever. Those would stay the same at any rate, even if the actual words turned out to be quite different.  At any rate, it got things over with.

_If you were ever willing to put your courage to the test, and to prove your bluster is true, I would be interested to speak with you someday.  Keep it in mind if you are willing to grow up._

__

_-A. Enjolras_

There. It was not perfect by any means, the words were actually rather blurred together, but it was, at least, finished.  De Courfeyrac shared another lecture with him in the morning, and for once, he actually hoped they both would make the effort to attend.  In fact, he near looked forward to it.

The next morning dawned with the combination of that eagerness that Enjolras had felt before, but also some excitement and last of all, dread.  If de Courfeyrac thought that he was a bit crazy, after yesterday, and the notes, or a bit of an ass, Enjolras could live with that. But, if de Courfeyrac expected an apology before he listened or took the words into account, well…

He need not have worried so much as all of that when a grinning de Courfeyrac dashed into the lecture hall, clutching a new hat to the top of his head with seconds to spare, then walked around the hall the very long way, while the professor glared before he plopped himself down right next to Enjolras, probably ready to make a show again.

“We have to repair our good relationship as classmates.” He proclaimed the words so loudly their professor rolled his eyes and looked very much like he wished he could do more than loosen his cravat a little.

“I do hope you intend to sort things out properly this time.” He muttered “Blondeau is not the only one prepared to strike you from this course, or take revenge when you turn in your next assignments, you are aware?”

De Courfeyrac raised his hand asking the room for silence in the gesture he did not actually have to make, seeing as his presence had the same effect.

“Please, monsieur, that was yesterday’s mistake.  Today, I plan to make several new ones, but of the sort that go on after class. Today, I woke and understood the full error of my ways. If Monsieur Enjolras will forgive me..” He added, slipping an arm around Enjolras as though he were some sort of long lost friend again. “Shall we settle things here, or would you prefer to seek your satisfaction with a sword?  I would hope it did not come to that, but…” He nodded towards the fashionable cane he carried with a grin. “Let us say, my walking stick allows me to always be prepared for that.”

“As fascinating as all of this is, de Courfeyrac, Enjolras,  the rest of us would appreciate you conduct your duel elsewhere. Perhaps the commons? I do not think anyone in here should mind if you were to have it after this class, please. Perhaps I will even attend.  God knows none of you intend to use my office hours as it is.  I might as well devote my time to something entertaining.”

“I think, monsieur, the matter of deciding falls to Enjolras.  And then of course, we should have to agree, choose seconds...better that we declare it so at once if that is how things are meant to be.”  The look that he cast Enjolras was clearly expectant.  He could not decide whether de Courfeyrac really meant to have a duel and was excited at the fact, whether he was putting on airs for no reason, or simply trying to be annoying. He had some nerve, really, but all the same, when he turned to Enjolras and offered his hand, it was damned hard not to return the man’s little smile.

“Shall we be friends, or shall I let you taste my blade?”

He never did stop, did he?  Seeing the only way out of this was to acquiesce to the gesture, and the first offer.  Perhaps it would make him go away outside of classes, back to being a annoying nuisance who sat behind him often, yes, but a nuisance who left him alone much of the other time.  With a sigh, he took the hand and clasped it, hard.

It was not quite the stronger grip he’d had de Courfeyrac’s arm in yesterday, but then he had no intention of reliving the particular moment, if they could help it.

“Friendly”  Enjolras answered, emphasizing the word itself as he returned his attention to his book. . “Not quite friends.”

“Good enough, Gentlemen.  Our duel is now on hold, and now I think we must return to...what in the Hell are we doing here, Professor?”

“This term has been in session for a month, Monsieur de Courfeyrac.  If you are not sure of the purpose of this lecture by now, I do pity your future clients. Now, then, if everyone would please.  The days of primogeniture have now come to an end.  This affects the passing, and the filing of a will, exactly how?

“I really must speak with you, as soon as possible.”  de Coufeyrac whispered, once the room had returned to its more usual dull roar of students whispering and the professor doing his best to catch their interests somehow. Instead of speaking, after all, why risk the ridicule again, Enjolras turned to his notes and fished out a sheet of paper.

_Why should you wish to do that?_  he scrawled, then nudged de Courfeyrac, and pointed to the paper, keeping his face impassive as he usually tried. _I enjoyed your boasts by the way_ , he added, next.   _Our ability to reach the voting public is perhaps not so easily won as that but they were interesting. Inspiring.  Can you do it in real life as well as you manage on paper?_

A few minutes into the lecture, de Courfeyrac coughed, drawing his attention back to the same sheet of paper, now with some added notes having nearly nothing to do with new property laws, and, for some unfathomable reason, the man’s best attempt at a very bad sketch of a chicken:

**Can you? I left a few notes on your ...pamphlet? by the way. My God, but your penmanship’s deplorable.**

_Oh you should talk of presentation of your work, Monsieur Camille_.  Enjolras scrawled all the faster, hoping that his writing grew even more deplorable here, that he might actually prove his point.  Bold claims are good, but bold means nothing if it is not applied to courage itself.

This time, before he had even moved his pen back to the inkwell, to catch more ink, de Courfeyrac was there, already writing in his lovely, even hand.

**Boldness starts the process of everything.  It leads to courage, and to bravery, then to attempts to make a change.  Do you go to the cafes and taverns, ever, or simply bury yourself in work and feed on your dreams of the future you shall accomplish on your own?**

_Some of them_ ,  Enjolras scrawled back, hoping de Courfeyrac was not getting at what it seemed like he was getting at. _...Why?_

**You are coming to Corinth after class with me.  We have a great deal to discuss and might as well throw lunch into the bargain. Besides that, I am hungry and you look like you could use a meal or two yourself.**

It would be a mistake to go with him, and Enjolras knew so, in his rational mind, but some part of him, perhaps the part that had appreciated the man’s words, and ability to stand his ground, even when it came to the ridiculous, told him otherwise.

_Lunch then.  One only. After which, we shall see._

__

De Courfeyrac did have a way about him, the sort of air that made a man others would follow, and perhaps of a valuable ally. Perhaps, this could be salvaged somehow, after all. If de Courfeyrac, at least, would stop his grinning at him now.

 ****  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> More Restoration stuff! Primogeniture was cancelled in favor of all heirs having an equal share in the estate.
> 
> Also, those of you who get the chance? DO use office hours. They really ARE a good way to retain information so you don't turn out like Courfeyrac.


	4. As d’Anton becomes Danton

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "I hardly dispense absolution, even if I feel somehow moved to it.” 
> 
> Courfeyrac takes a risk with Enjolras and his respect. He also introduces him to a rather important person, and gets a chance to prove his quality and lose the dread participle.

One lunch had become one afternoon spent listening to de Courfeyrac both posturize and in turn, deliver actually insightful comments that apparently weren’t quite finished by the time he had to excuse himself in order to go and ‘find trouble’ that smacked rather more of the romantic sort than Bahorelraic intentions. He’d been frustrating and rude in parts, insulting, now that he’d had a good look at them, Enjolras’s boots as well as his coat, and took the chance to throw in a sigh about the fact he’d lost one of his gloves a few weeks back and hadn't bothered to do anything about them, then brilliant as he leaned forward, vanities seemingly forgotten in the way his face lost the careful, polished smile, to rant, hands tearing at whatever he could find, at one injustice than another.

 

“Do you believe, it, honestly, the points they actually mean to HIDE within their flowing language of their ordinance?” He muttered, hands tearing at a sheet of paper as he went on.  “That they think it not unacceptable because it has been presented, somewhat to your average  bourgeois? And they mean it to stay the same,  that by the time we’re eligible to vote, we’re going to be tugged along with every other stale old thing that’s taken shape due to the fact that our esteemed classmates will not have bothered paying much attention either.  It’s unacceptable, would you not say?”  

 

“I very much doubt that I would find myself in that position.” Or the position somehow, where he actually could vote.  His father had the money, Enjolras knew well enough, but 25 still seemed so far away, besides.  What was a person like at 25?  30? The only one he knew who’d passed at least the first mark was, well, Bahorel, and Enjolras doubted he was actually one you could count as mature, majority or not.  

 

“Well, no.  You and I are too good to fall for it at least. But our classmates? The ones who never bother asking questions but to repeat what everyone wishes to hear? Who fall into the trap of our age all of this is?  Think of it.  Are we required to practice? Does either of our fathers actually expect it?  You, you probably WANT to do it, but…”

 

“What I want.” Enjolras reached to tug the shrivelled balls of paper from de Courfeyrac’s fists if he could possibly free them, unsure why it was he wanted to confess, if only to keep the man’s infuriating judgement on the downlow,  not that he took umbrage at the idea of practice as Bahorel did, by any means, “Is a career in rhetoric and in writing, perhaps someday out of just the pamphlets. A newspaper, even...  If I do it via law school, it can buy me years in Paris.  What I want right now is for you to return the mangled corpse you’ve made my draft, if you’d not mind. While I can still make sense out of it, maybe.”

 

“You are going to thank me when you can’t. It’s just your introduction, and between us both, it’s terrible. Now, I could help you with it if you like.  Tomorrow? Shall we suggest around three, so we can make it better?”

  
It was infuriating how the man assumed, insulted, and somehow cajoled his way into it, and the fact Enjolras nodded, had to do with that if it did anything. “Tomorrow”, he agreed, and two weeks later, those tomorrows had continued on, nearly like clockwork now, or near enough to consider them so.   Classes, sometimes Bahorel in between them, and, now, de Courfeyrac , or “Courfeyrac,” He’d corrected Enjolras, when they sat down the second or third afternoon. “To those in the know, which you certainly are.”  

 

“As d’Anton becomes Danton?” There seemed something more to it than fashion, anyway, a something Enjolras had paused to wonder at, at first, until the showing off actually started making sense.  There was that earthiness to him, when one knew where to look for it, which, sadly, Enjolras was just a bit embarrassed he had not.  Then again, considering the look he’d gotten in return, perhaps it was not so strange as that.

 

“Louis Antoine, I see you now.  Although at first, I must admit, I had you rather differently assessed as well.  You sneak into the room, you dutifully take your notes, you look disinterested and bored, as if all of this is beneath you. What else were we all meant to think?”

 

“Exactly what you saw?” Enjolras tried, rolling his eyes. “There are some longer plans than raging at the world all at once,” He’d learned that one rather the hard way through his last several years at the lycee.  “For the record, I am disinterested and bored, beyond of course, the particulars of what I hope to fight.  You hardly confessed differently yourself.”  

 

“Confessed?”  de Courfey… Courfeyrac rolled his own eyes in return to that, and it looked for all the world as though he was doing his best to keep from gesturing, or tearing at Enjolras’s paper again. For all that he’d been generous enough with his offers to take up tabs, and respectful of Enjolras’s clothing, awful as he claimed to find it, he did have a habit of destroying his half written work whenever the urge took him.   “What is this, a trial now, Monsieur Ministère Public?  No,  better, a confessional! There’s something of the priest in you. I feel as though I could begin to tell you anything.  I’ve no idea how you would judge me. Harshly. likely, but I still…” He shrugged, wineglass dangling between his fingers. “There’d be something of my betterment in that.”

 

“Your betterment? “ Bahorel’s words came back to him, though Enjolras could only stare at the man before him all the same.  Putting the fear of God and the Republic into a man was something.  Enjolras was nothing if he wasn’t able to convict, and draw conviction when and where it was most needed, but for it to have the possibility of bettering a man, a single one, as opposed to giving him the clues to think was strange.  “I must confess that much is new. I hardly dispense absolution, even if I feel somehow moved to it.”

 

“You hardly do so, yet. But there are times and places. Give it some mind when you’ve the chance.”

 

It had been days ago, that conversation, disturbing as the thought actually was, but it played upon his mind every so often, particularly when he contemplated Courfeyrac, attempting to sort out the man, and the persona,  the writer of such clear conviction and courage and the boy who played at Devil’s Advocate while loudly laughing, luring others into trouble in debates, and smirking, for the sole pleasure of having shown someone or other up, the kitten batting at a ball of string, and the lion waiting to strike.  They made no sense as one man and the same, and yet the contradictions stood, leaving him to sort out...something, he was not sure what.

 

Tonight, against his better judgment, he and Courfeyrac were working on a project of the other’s making, borne of Courfeyrac’s insistence he had found them an alliance of some sort. “I have contacts who’ve made contacts,” He had promised him via a quick conversation on his way into class.  “And someone else for you to meet besides, if you would be willing to help us out.”

 

It was, perhaps, stupid to say yes at once, without getting Bahorel, and without consulting him at least, but Enjolras, as reasoned as he was, was tired of inaction, and perhaps, though he did not like to admit it, spurred on by Courfeyrac’s enthusiasm in and of itself. Which was how he found himself reporting to the Latin Quarter, bustling, full of students, fashion, color, and the life of Paris that he rarely let himself notice, let alone take part in.  Already, as a carriage passed, a fashionable couple leaning out to wave merrily to friends, he wondered at how out of place he looked, how easily detected he might be as the outsider to the bright and jolly little parties going around about him, how somber and…

 

“Enjolras!”  Courfeyrac’s shout cut across the clamor of voices, waving him over to the steps where he was waiting. “THERE you are, my friend. I’d wondered if one of the beauties here stole you away, but there’s work to be done first, you know.  I’ve got someone for you to meet and if I’ve managed to infer correctly, you’ll get along like a thatched roof aflame. Michel!” He added, pushing open one of the doors. “Our man has finally arrived!”

 

“Don’t let him fool you.”  Somewhere in the general clash of fading velvet cushions, ancient settee and books scattered about the place, a man in spectacles appeared, offering a hand and rather tired, seeming smile.

 

“I only got in a quarter of an hour ago, at most.  My cousin has a flair for the dramatic, if you haven’t somehow noticed that before.” he added wryly, and, now that he was close enough to take the hand, Enjolras saw the tired patience in his eyes that had to come from being in proximity to Courfeyrac on a repeated basis.  The fact he did it said rather a lot, now didn’t it?

“Michel Combeferre.”He added, offering a hand. “The last I checked, he probably wasn’t mad enough to warrant treatment.  Probably.”

 

“Combeferre’s at the medical school.”  Courfeyrac added, “Waiting on an internship at Necker, which he’s sure to get if not this term, then after.  And he’s the best shot I’ve had the pleasure to ever know, my own poor relation or not.”  

  
“I do like my projectiles…”  Combeferre allowed, and stood next to Courfeyrac, Enjolras was at once aware of the differences between them.  You might have stuffed about three of Combeferre into his cousin, and still had near a head of room for adding something else and then filling out the rest of the details. “You’re Enjolras, then? I had some thoughts on your work too, if you would like to..”

 

A cough from Courfeyrac cut them off.  “Much as I approve your usually sound advice, and your dedication to be thorough and ability to move, we’ve got some moving of our own to do, if neither one of you recall.  We’ve got to be there rather soon.  Our friends can’t be kept waiting. .” He explained for at least the fifth time that Enjolras could tell, as if he thought they would forget.  

 

“I KNOW.” he started, stopping at the pressure of a hand laid on his forearm.  He’d grown used to Bahorel’s touch but was still working at it with Courfeyrac, let alone the rather quiet, serious Combeferre, with his doctor’s touch, who he had only just met.

 

“Forgive him, won’t you?  Courfeyrac’s...excited. We’ve wished to do something about the world for years, and now that we have the chance, he’s simply eager to begin. He means no harm,  I can assure you.  Courfeyrac, we will be fine,  we know that we can trust each other, and you speak of Enjolras so highly, I nearly trust him too, by now.”

 

“Ah, nearly. That is a comfort.  I would hate to know a complete stranger with no reason to trust me is not able to do it all at once.”  Enjolras answered, surprised at the ease he already felt with Combeferre, though they’d only just met.  Courfeyrac, he was still working on, but Combeferre?  Something felt already right.

 

“Ah, well, I do my best.”  Combeferre nodded to Courfeyrac.  “I place my trust in you as well.  You’re better than you think you are, and you have worked hard for it. There’s no way it can fail.”

 

There was no way what could fail?  They were reaching out towards a group, no more. It could be interesting, it should be interesting, but there was no real danger in it, after all.  Courfeyrac pocketing a large purse, as if it were saved for the occasion, and hiding a pistol inside his coat was a bit odd, but then, he liked to attempt buying friendships and had an inflated sense of drama, didn’t he? .

  
Surely his imagination was overreacting, telling him that something might be wrong.  Enjolras shoved it off, long as he could, nodding toward both men in turn. “I’ll hold you to that promise then.  So, Courfeyrac, where exactly are we going?”

 

“We HAD to trust him.” Enjolras muttered under his breath, ducking into an alley, Combeferre on his heels. “I had to trust him, as apparently, you knew exactly what was going on.” The rather bitter words tasted awful as he spat them out, but Enjolras could care less for the moment. He wanted bitter words, he wanted to be angry, and he was damned sick, if he was anything, of Courfeyrac’s face right now.  

 

“Can being angry wait?” Combeferre wondered, at his side.  “Until we’ve found a place of safety, perhaps? Or Courfeyrac himself?  And yes, of course I knew. Buying up ammunition was much my own idea, instead of his. We’ll need to be prepared against a day we truly need it.  And he swore  the representatives he spoke with  were trustworthy” ” And then he cleared his throat a little, almost awkwardly. “He did not tell you,really?”

 

“Nothing at all.”  Enjolras answered, pressing himself flat against a wall, wishing he could press further,  as heavy footsteps quickened.  This was neither the time or place for action or making themselves known.  Same principles aside, they obviously weren’t united.  Yet, supplied his brain, which he ignored, in favor of concentrating on not being caught by either their false dealer turned apparent ransomer, or almost more importantly, by the police, who must be lurking somewhere.

 

“Hush, do you hear that?” Combeferre’s hand was on his shoulder yet again, stilling him and Enjolras allowed the gesture, peering out into the dark, though he saw nothing, save for shadows made of smoke, coming directly for them, none of which were tall enough for Courfeyrac.  They had to find a place to move, and fast, if they could risk it, or stay where they were, and fight.   Bahorel had warned him, after all, taught Enjolras what he could, and the top rule was never being stupid.  Since he’d broken it once tonight, he did not mean to try again.

 

“They haven’t got our names!” Courfeyrac’s voice split the sky. “Go on without me. RUN!”

 

A  crack, and, then, another filled the air like lightning, with a hint of sulphur left behind, and a pained shout echoed in the air.

 

Encouragement, Enjolras knew, and  needed no more encouragement, but a few more shots, either from Courfeyrac, or their pursuers returning fire.  He grabbed at Combeferre’s hand and tugged the shorter man behind him, yanking firmly when he slowed.  

 

“André…” The doctor muttered, stopping all at once to catch his breath, maybe, or just because he worried. . “We really ought to go back. If there is one thing he never learned, it’s to carry extra ammunition.”  

 

“Hence this meeting place?  No.” Enjolras would hold firm on that if he did anything.  Courfeyrac had said to run, and run they had.  “You won’t repay his risk by ruining it.”  If that was true, why did he feel a little bit of guilt himself?  Why did the thought of Courfeyrac’s smile, and his little jabs at everything suddenly make him want to rush back there himself? It made no sense, and yet…

 

“He has a way about him, one of growing on you.” Combeferre said, at length into the silence the two of them had kept together. “Makes himself invaluable.  He’s...always had that gift. If something happens to him due to my damned project, I will not know what to…”

 

“Best that you won’t have to then.”  Courfeyrac’s appearance on the scene was quieter than usual, and rather subdued, not at all like the self that Enjolras had come to know.  “I’m here now, aren’t I?”  There was another timbre to his voice now, too,  much lower, scratchy sounding, and a little tired, even.  Or something more than tired, but it was hard to find the proper words. “Shall we just go? I’d like to wallow in my shame at being duped from the comforts of my own bed, thank you. “  

 

“And were you HURT?” For all that Combeferre obviously adored  the man, the shift to angry doctor, thinking you had harmed yourself was somewhat scary.  Enjolras had to say he was in awe himself. It was an incredibly potent shift that he supposed one ought to manufacture.  Was that what they did in the medical school, then? Teach you to scare the patients and to feed them nasty medicines and tea? He wouldn’t be surprised, to tell the truth.

 

“I, no I’m fine...I…” Courfeyrac did not sound fine at all.  The bright notes in his voice were strained, as though he fought to keep them there, and he spoke quietly, head pitched toward the ground as he answered, or formulated one, at least.

 

.   “I am...uninjured,” seemed to be Courfeyrac’s decided, subdued,  course of answer.  “Please, can we all go back to mine? I could do with  a brandy. Or six. We’ll want to step around the other way. I don’t fancy stepping over wounded men, nor any bodies. Even if I WAS the one to put them there. “

 

“Do you know for certain they are dead?” Combeferre wondered, sounding ill, and Enjolras supposed that he could hardly blame him. As a doctor, after all, at least one in training, Combeferre  knew death firsthand, and perhaps knew it too well to accept that it might help the situation.  He’d step forward to aid their victims if allowed, Enjolras knew, but maybe he was not the best of them to deal with all of  this just now.

 

Enjolras was no good with people that he knew of, and surely not good with Courfeyrac, who stood there looking guilty and ashamed, and terrified of what he’d done if his shaking hands were any indication.

  
“Well, I hardly went back to check. I heard some cries, I saw them fall. I think that it suffices, Combeferre!”  At least his tone had changed there, sharp enough to cut like a sword and jagged like a million pieces of smashed glass.. It was still out of place, for him. but there was spirit in it, anyway, and Courfeyrac seemed just a little more himself until he sighed again.

  
“I only did what I could do. It’s the worst thing I’ve ever done, but even so... You would have done the same, at least?” he asked, turning his head to Enjolras.  “For brotherhood, for...we are brothers after all, once we have been through something like that.”

 

“I’d not have lied.” Enjolras wanted that point clear. . “I thought we had agreed that pretexts did not work with us.” He didn’t know that he would have come, or wouldn’t have cautioned Courfeyrac to something else if he had mentioned absolutely any of this plan beyond the basics. “We should stand on the plain truth, you and I.  If we are to be brothers, then I’ll not accept half truths again.”

 

The man was bravely foolish still, tonight had shown him that, but there was something more besides. That willingness for brotherhood, to sacrifice his freedom, maybe soul, to serve a man in need. That the man was Enjolras himself said quite a bit  as well.  

  
“Then you would still...another time?”

 

“You said yourself we’ve become  brothers,” It seemed Combeferre’s turn to chime in.  “I’d think we might as well forgive, and try again, if there are no objections to the fact. He’s a good man, my cousin.” He added, as if he had to vouch for Courfeyrac especially now. “Sometimes he even manages to prove it. More bravery than brain, but even so…”

  
“I’ll take him.” Enjolras decided, reaching out a hand to Courfeyrac, so he might shake it, and then the other towards Combeferre, glad the flickering lamplight showed enough that he could see their faces as they stood.  “And you may as well come along. . Something tells me I need your calm and logic..”

 

“So, then we’re brothers?” Courfeyrac sounded much happier than he first had at least. “There’s three of us, instead of two, enough to change the world.”

 

“Enough to make a start.” Enjolras could not help feeling a little better now he’d seen Courfeyrac’s courage in full measure, and gained Combeferre’s sense to balance out his...whatever it was.  Whatever happened from then on, he did it with the pair of them.  “We’re brothers,then, whatever comes.”

 

“Whatever comes.” Combeferre agreed, turning around the corner,  looking eager to get out of the neighborhood,ready as Enjolras to leave it behind entirely.

 

“There are too many police around here for my peace of mind.  Would you like to come back with us?  We can begin making up for tonight with at least a drink.” he nudged Courfeyrac with a shoulder that came up to the large man’s chest, but managed to be somewhat terrifying all the same, and, apparently, Courfeyrac agreed, given the little sheepish little head he bowed,  entirely unlike what Enjolras had come to consider his usual manner of behavior.  

  
“Someone has quite a few things to make up to you, I think, so this would make a good time to get started.  I’d like to share my thoughts on your pamphlet and ask for you to to take a look at ours, besides.  We’re having trouble finding the right turns of phrase.”

  
“I would like that.” Enjolras had no other plans, and friends who understood him, even brothers, maybe, were few and far to come by. Better not to let them get away, though, even then, he understood that nothing else could ever be the same. Perhaps it was a touch of destiny.  He looked forward to finding out, at least.

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This end is fairly rough. I'm working on revamping it a little. 
> 
> They joke of being George Jacques Danton and Louis-Antoine de Saint-Just, here, obviously.
> 
> Stemming from a joke in roleplay where I threatened to make all my characters have Killian Donnelly for a faceclaim (he's played like everyone!) , Combeferre became Courfeyrac's poorer cousin on his mother's side for me. He's hardly destitute,by the way. Courfeyrac's just being...Courfeyrac.


End file.
